Chapter Seven
Vendetta
The sun hadn’t even cracked the edge of the horizon when Vendetta pulled the van around.
Dylan climbed in beside him, her hoodie zipped to her chin and a small duffel bag hugged tightly to her chest like armor.
She hadn’t said much, just nodded when he asked if she was ready, and closed the door behind her like she never planned to open it again.
Vendetta checked the side mirror before shifting into drive.
He was already on edge, adrenaline surging through his veins.
Every instinct in his body screamed that Eli wouldn’t let this go.
He’d lost a high-ranking buyer, and he knew Dylan hadn’t pulled off that escape by herself.
All he had to do was talk to Peggy or anyone else who worked at the bar.
They all knew she had a guy. They’d seen his van.
Eli and his crew might even be at the warehouse right now, trying to shake any witnesses down for information.
Let them. They wouldn’t get a Goddamn thing except an address for an extended-stay motel room that he’d picked clean before they left.
He scanned the rearview mirror again. Still nothing. But driving away with her just seemed too easy. It unnerved him because he knew from experience that nothing ever was.
“You’re doing the right thing,” he said, his voice low. But he wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince her or himself.
Dylan didn’t look at him. “Doesn’t feel like it.”
His hands tightened on the steering wheel. “I’m sorry this happened, Dylan. I really am. But you’ll figure out where you want to go from here.” Get a fresh start. With him.
Dylan nodded but didn’t say anything else. She was gripping the strap of her bag so tightly her knuckles were white.
Vendetta meant what he’d said last night.
He had to know she was safe. He couldn’t take on this fight if there was any risk she was in danger.
God, he knew he shouldn’t have fallen in love with her.
It hadn’t been the plan. He just hoped that wherever she ended up once he got her out of this, he could still be part of her life.
He didn’t want this to be just a rescue and goodbye.
Maybe, once the smoke cleared and Eli was buried under the weight of his own sins, Dylan might still look at him the way she used to.
Like he was her hero, someone worth loving.
But he couldn’t say that out loud. Not while her world was still shifting beneath her feet like quicksand. She needed to feel safe, not pressured.
So, Vendetta kept driving, the wheel steady in his grip, and didn’t say a damn thing. Even though every part of him wanted to.
He had one eye on the road, the other on the rearview mirror. A black SUV had tailed them for two blocks back near 221 but turned off toward the main drag. Still, his gut was uneasy.
Reaching forward, he turned off the radio. “I’ll take a detour through Dusty Mile before we hit the Mercy County line,” he muttered. “Just in case.”
“Do you think he’s already looking for me?” Dylan’s voice was quiet. He knew she was afraid of the answer.
“I’d bet my patch on it.”
She flinched at his words. He didn’t want to scare her more, but there was no use in sugarcoating it.
Eli Crizer didn’t let go of anything, never had.
And he’d made the mistake of thinking Dylan was his.
It wasn’t about love or family. To Eli, people were assets.
Some made him money. Some earned him loyalty.
Others were used as leverage. Dylan had been all three, and now that she’d slipped his grasp, she was a big liability.
From what Dylan told him, Eli hadn’t lifted a hand to raise her, hadn’t even acknowledged her in public half the time.
But the second she defied him, disappeared off the grid, and ran with a man whose identity he didn’t know, she became something he had to punish.
Not because he missed her or fucking cared.
But because disobedience demanded consequences, and he couldn’t have word get out that someone defied him and lived to talk about it.
Eli Crizer ruled through fear. And when fear didn’t work, he turned to brute force. That’s what made him dangerous, and why Vendetta was driving like every second counted. Men like Eli didn’t just let go. They hunted and destroyed.
Vendetta glanced at her again. Dylan wasn’t property. She was a Goddamn spark in a powder keg, and one more reason he was willing to blow the whole thing sky-high.
Dylan still stared out the window, her eyes fixed on the trees racing past as if they could answer the questions in her head. She hadn’t looked his way since they crossed the county line. He didn’t push, guessing she needed silence.
But then, out of nowhere, her voice broke through the hum of the tires. “Do you know what happened to Jared? My cousin? Wasn’t he one of you?”
Vendetta’s grip on the wheel faltered slightly. They’d talked about him once, Dylan believing he’d just run off to avoid his father and some gambling debts.
“Jared Crizer,” she added, softer. “My cousin. They called him Babyface.”
The silence that followed wasn’t the same as before. It was much heavier now.
Dylan finally turned to him. “You do know.”
He blew out a breath. “Dylan…”
“Don’t lie to me,” she said. “Not about this.”
It was the first time since last night that she’d referenced his deception. And it hit him hard, not because her voice was sharp or cruel. That would have made him feel better. Her voice was steady, and there was hurt there. She was asking for something real.
Gripping the wheel tighter, the ghost of her words echoed louder than the hum of the tires on pavement. He’d known this was coming. Now that the shock was wearing off, the questions would start. And this one…
He glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes, his heart clenching.
What if, no matter how hard he fought to protect her, the way he came into her life had already poisoned whatever they had between them?
Whatever they were becoming, he wanted it.
At some point, she’d become more important than the revenge he wanted, the peace he needed.
He just didn’t know if they could survive the truth.
“After everything you’ve been through, I really don’t want to add to it. ”
“But you were one of them,” she said. “Or close enough.”
“Close enough to know the truth.” His voice was low, careful. “Jared didn’t run. Yeah, he had gambling debts, and from what I heard, he and Eli didn’t get along.”
She released a slow breath, already bracing for the answer.
Vendetta kept his eyes on the road. “Eli killed him.”
When he spared a glance at Dylan, she looked like she’d been slapped. She looked away, but her voice still held. “Why?”
“Jared crossed a line,” Vendetta said quietly.
“He wanted Eli to bail him out of debt. When Eli wouldn’t, Jared tried something else.
Razor is the president of the Mercy Hounds.
His daughter came back to Mercy after her grandmother died, and Babyface saw an opportunity.
He always thought she was Eli’s kid. He used that as an excuse. ”
Dylan’s gaze dropped. Vendetta was pretty sure she didn’t really want to hear the rest.
“Babyface grabbed her off the street,” Vendetta continued, voice flat with disgust. “Sold her to a Cottonmouth hangout. Tried to turn her out like she was nothing, but the Hounds got to her in time… Babyface figured Eli would take notice, and he did. But the girl wasn’t Eli’s.
And when Eli found out what he’d done, embarrassing him and causing trouble in his name with the Hounds, he didn’t hesitate.
” He cut her another glance. “Eli shot him. Right there in the Hounds’ clubhouse in Mercy. No trial or fight. Just a bullet.”
Dylan stared at the dashboard, her voice cracking as she whispered, “He killed his own son.”
It wasn’t a question. And all he could do was nod in answer.
They still had a half hour to go, every minute building tension in his chest like storm pressure. Still, with every mile they put between Dylan and Oak Grove, he felt a sliver of relief.
Just a little longer. Mercy was waiting.
* * *
Dylan
“Welcome to Mercy,” Josh said as they passed its city limits sign.
Dylan sat shaking in the passenger seat as the van turned off the main road and rolled through a gritty corner of Mercy.
The streets were older than those in Oak Grove, narrower, and cracked.
It was the kind of place where every brick had a story.
Josh slowed the van in front of a corner building in a run-down strip mall.
At first glance, it didn’t look like much.
But as they pulled up in a parking lot across the street, the storefront came into view.
Graffiti-style murals covered the outer wall.
Dark, expressive artwork stretched across the brick like a tapestry of rebellion.
Skulls, wings, serpents, and flames danced together in an eye-catching but chaotic symmetry.
Its bold neon signage glowed above the door in fiery red and cool white: No Mercy Ink, the shop making its presence known against the overcast morning.
Tinted windows shielded whatever was inside, but the glass was lined with displays.
Elegant tattoo designs of snakes coiled through roses, broken clocks, battle-worn angels.
A wrought-iron bench sat beneath a rusty metal awning out front, with a beat-up bucket on the ground serving as a makeshift ashtray.
Dylan’s eyes lingered on the sign. “This is it?”
Josh nodded, one hand resting on the steering wheel. “This is No Mercy Ink. Deva, Razor’s old lady, runs it with Outcast, her brother. They know we’re coming.”
The van ticked as he shut it off. Outside, it was quiet, but it wasn’t peace she was feeling. It was pressure, like the street held its breath whenever strangers arrived.
Josh glanced her way. She didn’t miss the concern that had bled into his expression. “Just let me talk, all right?”